


When the Cat Caught the Mouse

by ShadowBiscuit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Cock Rings, Knife Play, M/M, Obsessive Dean, Possible pain kink, Rape Fantasy, Scared Sam, Serial Killer Dean, Sex Machine, Slight Bondage, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowBiscuit/pseuds/ShadowBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped and drugged. Waking up naked and with a blindfold over his eyes, Sam didn't think he'd get out of this situation he has somehow got himself into alive. But he really needn't worry.<br/>Dean isn't planning on hurting him <em>that</em> bad...</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Cat Caught the Mouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scarlet_Ribbons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Ribbons/gifts).



> A birthday gift to someone I am so very lucky to call my friend.  
> Happy Birthday, Scarlet_Ribbons <3

 

_Nightmare of those righteous knights,_

_Shadow of the night,_

_Better run when he’s in sight,_

_A force you cannot fight._

 

The warehouse was silent, save for the distant echo of the water droplets hitting the small puddles left behind by the previous night’s rain. Tonight, too, it rained. Not as much, but just enough to leave a faint moisture in the air, and the damp scent of fresh rain behind. It was a nice, uncanny addition to the already cold and somewhat metallic smells lingering in the air of the abandoned warehouse that Dean chose. Nobody has visited this place for years; it was even listed for demolition, just waiting to be destroyed, so he didn’t think anyone would mind if he borrowed it a little.

The room was vast enough to send the sound of his calculated, slow footsteps bouncing off the walls before dissipating, swallowed up by the empty space. There wasn’t much in here. He didn’t bother with a whole arsenal, but still brought just enough toys to keep himself occupied for more than a few minutes. Chilly winter air whistled its eerie appreciation as gusts of wind blew in from the shattered windows of the room, threatening to freeze the humid air and the dank walls. Aside from the moonlight piercing the darkness swirling around the room, no light served to illuminate the place Dean had chosen for this special night. But that was fine. This was exactly how he wanted it.

He’s been preparing for tonight for a very long time, after all.

He felt like a priest before the altar as he walked forward and between the rows of items he had carefully picked out. On either side of him were narrow wooden tables, with a pearl white cloth draped over them, and with a variety of toys lined up on the surface. He took his time, trailing his fingers along the smooth and curved edges, as he made his way to the third table in the room, this one much larger and wider, big enough to support a human body.

It was sprawled over the cool stainless steel table, spread eagle style, with tight ropes binding Its ankles and wrists to the table’s legs. One for each. It was freed from the confinement of Its clothes, and lay bare and vulnerable on the table, the only fabric covering Its skin being the black silk blindfold and the rubber gag forcing It to breathe loudly through Its nose. It lay unmoving, but tense, Dean’s footsteps evidently unnerving It, if the way Its chest began heaving was anything to go by.

It was a fine specimen. No, more than fine. Dean had never seen anything quite like it. He first laid eyes on It three months ago, outside a coffee shop he rarely frequented, unless he was gravely in need for some caffeine. His hobby had him staying up for several nights, and he couldn’t afford to fall asleep during work. That day wasn’t anything special. He hadn’t done anything differently, but still, the Heavens have decided to grant him a miracle, and as he was about to enter the shop, It came out and crashed into him. Now, normally, Dean would have tracked the person down and would have killed them slowly for ruining his suit, burning them with searing hot tar just like the coffee burned him upon impact. But _It_ was different. It immediately stopped chatting and laughing with Its friends and tried Its best to wipe Dean’s suit clean; It apologized at least a hundred times, sounding genuinely sorry and concerned. And most of all, It was beautiful. Soft and smooth-looking chestnut hair that barely reached Its jaw, innocently exotic hazel eyes that seemed to twinkle and change shades in the glow of the sun, a cute nose, pretty pink lips, and a lean, slender body. It caught Dean’s attention the moment he laid eyes on It, the moment It flashed an apologetic, dimpled smile at him. For the first time in his entire life, his 26 years, Dean had felt his heart skip a beat, felt an urge that was different from the one he usually got. Instead of wanting to find out how It screamed in pain as he dismembered It, he found himself wondering if Its voice would hold the same smooth and pleasant, warm tone when under the blade of a knife, when touched and hurt, caressed in every way possible.

Dean smiled at It, polite and suave, loyal to his façade and not letting It get a glimpse behind the mask he had perfected for years. Not letting It suspect the sick thoughts that began rushing through his mind as It gave him Its number if Dean wanted It to pay for the suit’s dry-cleaning, as It turned around and walked away, unsuspecting of the eyes on Its ass.

Finding out where It lived was easy enough. Dean was exceptionally good at following people without them noticing his presence. That’s how he hasn’t been caught yet—hasn’t been sentenced to death for all the murders he committed along the years. Sometimes, he liked to think of himself as the new Jack the Ripper. Anyway, stalking was one of his many talents, and so he spent months following It.

Following his most interesting plaything yet.

Sam Winchester was Its name, he learned after a few days. 22 of age. Student in Stanford University. Smart and gorgeous, then. Had a girlfriend, but that didn’t matter. Dean could easily get rid of the wench if she became a liability. It was always smiling, Dean finding himself comparing It to a ray of pure sunshine in this corrupt and putrid world. It gave him a reason to get up in the morning, though it wasn’t like he slept much during those months. Sleeping meant missing precious hours he could be spending watching and studying Its every movement. Three hours was the most he let himself rest—spending the rest watching and following, taking notes and pictures. Breaking and entering without leaving a trace of his presence to steal. No money or valuables, but Its clothes. Samples. Underwear he used in ways others would have surely considered sick, but not Dean. Jerking off while burying his face in Sam’s underwear gave him some of his hardest orgasms, after all. Even more powerful than the ones he got from masturbating after a fresh kill, standing above the cooling corpse of his victim.

Sam. Sammy. Samuel. It had many nicknames, but Dean preferred to call It, well…It. Sam looked more like a God among these ants, anyway, so an objectifying pronoun suited It better. Months of watching made Dean crave more and more, all the fantasies and ideas he gradually came up with unable to bear, to control. Many times, he couldn’t fight his urges, became hard from just watching It smile, his mind switching the view before him to that of his imagination, and suddenly, instead of seeing It sipping on a bottle of beer, he saw It on Its knees, blinking up at him and wrapping those petal soft lips around his cock, moaning like a sweet boy while swallowing him down to the base. Dean had to take more trips to the bathroom after that, his underwear in need of cleaning from all the times he came in his pants, untouched, thanks to his vivid imagination.

Not anymore, though.

It was easier than he expected. Sneaking into Its dorm was child’s play, Dean one with the darkness, a predator of the night, skilled in moving in the shadows. It was still studying at Its desk, reading intently from a thick, lengthy law book. Dean remembered smiling at the sight, thinking how whisking his prize away would be more like a rescue than kidnapping. Of course, no matter the circumstances, It did not quite saw it as anything positive. As soon as Dean’s hand came around Its head, pressing a chloroform soaked cloth against Its nose, It instantly panicked. A normal reaction, really, so Dean couldn’t blame It. He still grabbed Its hair and bashed Its head into the desk, though. Just to make sure. That halted Its frantic movements, and before long, It slumped out of Its chair and slid onto the floor, unconscious. After that, it was the easiest thing for Dean to drag Its body to the car, toss It into the backseat, and drive off, never exceeding the speed limit. Gotta keep up appearances.

A few more hours of setting things in order and tying his target up, and everything was done. Perfect. All those months led up to this very moment, to the here and now of Dean standing before the spread open form of It.

“Hi, Samuel,” he spoke to the other for the first time after they met, gliding the back of his fingers up Its calf, rewarded by a light gasp and the feel of muscles tensing under his touch. “Scared? You shouldn’t be. I’m no stranger. Don’t you remember?” He removed his hand and shrugged. “Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t. I never really called you, either. Maybe I should have. Maybe we could have gotten to slowly know each other that way… But alas, that’s not how I do things. My tastes in things like human interaction are much more…refined.”

It stayed silent, but gave the ropes around Its wrists two desperate tugs. With the drug now completely gone from Its system, It could have writhed and struggled, but it seemed that It was still too paralyzed by fear to do any of that. Which was perfectly fine. Dean liked them scared.

“It’s unnecessary to mention, I’d assume, that I know you much more than you know me,” he said absently, almost conversationally as he took a step back and turned to one of the wooden tables. “My name is Dean. I’m the one you emptied your plastic cup of warm coffee on a few months back. Quite a memorable meeting, I think, but then again, you meet a lot of people. Don’t you, Sam?” He picked up a small and fancy-looking dagger, with the center slimmer than the base and the edge, and raised it into the silvery ray of the moonlight, marveling in the way the stainless surface reflected the light. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you,” he continued, stopping in front of Its table and placing a hand on Its knee, a hint of a smirk gracing his lips as the other’s breath hitched. “Tonight, you and I will be merely playing. It will be a really fun game, you’ll see.”

He gently slid his hand up Its knee and thigh, his smirk widening when he heard the sound resembling a whimper leave his plaything. Its cock lay flaccid on Its thigh, unexcited by the slightest touch, probably even disgusted by what was happening to It. Not that Dean cared, for now. It would get erect. Sam would get hard for him, sooner or later…

*

 

Oh god, he was going to get decapitated, stuffed in black plastic bags and tossed into the river, wasn’t he?

Sam tried to breathe properly, tried to calm down, but how the hell was he supposed to do anything close to keeping calm and collected when he was tied to some sort of cold, flat surface—maybe a table?—with all his clothes missing?

He woke up rather peacefully. Felt a bit dizzy, sure, and as if he was experiencing the world’s worst hangover, like an elephant riding a rhino had trampled over his head before letting the whole Russian army march across him. So it was bad, and he even had this disgusting, sickly sweet and dry sensation in his mouth, along with a killer headache, but he didn’t think much of it at first. Just wondered about the strange dream he had before passing out on top of his textbook, hoped he still had time to finish his ten thousand word essay by tomorrow. It was when he realized he was blindfolded, couldn’t move his arms and legs, and the air against his skin was really cold, that he began to freak out a little. As in a lot.

He was sure that if he wouldn’t have been already lying down, he would have either collapsed to his knees or fainted from the abrupt rush of panic engulfing him and sending his heart into overdrive. Horrible nausea grabbed him by the gut and twisted it, tugged at his entrails until he felt like throwing up right then and there, and normally, he would have liked to do just that, but since he apparently even had a gag sitting snugly between his teeth, Sam hoped not to lose control over his body’s control and accidentally choke on his vomit. Yeah, that would have been a pretty miserable way to die. Whatever drug—probably chloroform, judging from the way his tongue which now probably had the consistency of a dried raisin kept sticking to the roof of his mouth—his kidnapper had given him was wearing off, and after a while, Sam became more and more aware of his surroundings. Well, as much as the rest of his senses let him, though he would’ve loved to get rid of the blindfold as well and get a better look at where he was. Or maybe not. Who knew, maybe he was in the backroom of some butcher’s shop, surrounded by both animal and human corpses, and no matter how good of a self-control he had, Sam was sure he’d end up hurling and ultimately meet his demise from drowning in his own vomit. So, actually, the blindfold might have been a good thing.

It didn’t smell like freshly spilled, or dried blood, though. No gore-like stinks were hanging in the air, as far as he could tell, but it wasn’t like he had been close to a dead body before, so his opinions might be open for interpretation. Sam could smell a certain dampness to the air, and feel occasional caresses of incredibly cold wind, so he assumed he was most probably outside, or in some place that never heard of heaters. The fact that he was completely naked also bothered him to a very great degree, but he tried to ignore that while listening to something, anything; however aside from the distant dripping sounds of water, he couldn’t hear a thing.

That is, before his future tormentor entered the place.

The nonchalance in his kidnapper’s slow and almost lazy footsteps sent an apprehensive shiver down Sam’s spine, and if he was freezing before, he was pretty sure he turned into an ice statue right then. When his kidnapper spoke, the man’s voice was deep and sinister, even though he was talking casually, as if just discussing the weather, and that, in a way, terrified him even more. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest and flipped him off before running away from this dreadful situation when he felt the other’s hand on him, _caressing_ his leg. The man knew his name. Not just his name, he surely knew so much more about him, Sam not in the position to doubt the other’s words. Dean, he said his name was. He faintly remembered someone he bumped into a few months back, yeah, but that person seemed too nice to be his kidnapper. Sam even kind of flirted with him, though he doubted the guy noticed, or was interested, since he never got a call from him after that. It was a shame, but it wasn’t long before Sam forgot about him and continued living his life… His life which, no matter what this Dean person was promising, had the high chance of ending in the coming hours. Or maybe even minutes.

He so very hoped he wouldn’t get flayed. That would be a very gruesome and painful way to die.

Secretly wishing he’d just have a heart attack as he felt Dean’s firm hand and curious fingers stroking his thigh, Sam swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut even with the blindfold on him and forcing himself to stay still, especially when he felt the cold and sharp, deadly edge of a blade against his skin. His groin, of all places. Unable to really say anything, to shout at and curse his kidnapper, or maybe beg in hopes of reaching the other’s humanity, gain his sympathy and pull off what all those stupid and desperate victims in horror movies couldn’t achieve by pleading, Sam settled for sinking his teeth in the rubber ball wedged between them and shying away from the dangerous blade. The ropes keeping him in place had other things in mind, and unfortunately didn’t let him get too far, Sam just ending up hurting himself from the way the coarse rope bit into the skin of his ankles.

The man chuckled, a dark and ominous sound that had his chest well up in panic and eyes with fearful tears, but he quickly blinked them away. He wasn’t going to cry, damn it. At least not so soon. He curled his toes, straining against the tight ropes around his ankles as the blade slid up and down his flesh, before dipping deeper and pressing into his skin, leaving a cut between his hip and thigh as it got dragged down, following some serpentine path that ended millimeters away from his balls. Only a small area around his hip stung, though, so he was quite certain that his sensitive skin down there was safe. For now.

“What do you say I decorate you to my liking?” he heard the man suggest, the question obviously rhetorical as he continued right away, though Sam couldn’t have answered even if he wanted, not with the gag in his mouth. “I’m sure I could carve some pretty patterns into your skin.” That bone-chilling chuckle again. “I’m not a professional artist, or a surgeon, but I’m positive I wouldn’t mess it up. I am actually very precise when I want to be. However for the results to come out flawless, I’d need you to keep still. No moving around, or I’d have to start over, and for that I’d need to burn your skin. And it would be such a shame to ruin this magnificent canvas, don’t you think?”

He took in a shaky breath through his nose, twisting his wrist and gripping the ropes that were tying them to who knows what. Unable to grit his teeth like this, he settled for biting the gag as he braced himself for the next cut, and it wasn’t long before he felt the piercing, uncomfortable pain as Dean moved the blade to his chest. He would have liked to squirm, but the image of a Zippo and his skin meeting immediately turned his body stiff like stone. Cuts would hurt but heal—a burn would hurt even more and might leave a mark forever.

Is what he thought, but it indeed seemed as if Dean intended to create some sort of work of art on his chest. “So pretty,” the man whispered as he made a C shaped cut on Sam’s skin, before trailing a finger against the bleeding wound and making him hiss and shudder. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. No moving around,” Dean chided as he sucked in his stomach when, after making a long cut, the man caressed the wound. “Am I going to have to punish you, after all?”

He quickly shook his head, fear pulsing in his veins and pumping crimson out of the several wounds littering his body, painting his torso and trickling down his sides, the hot fluid warming him, then making him shiver when it cooled down. He couldn’t tell what Dean was trying to create, but he sure as hell was bent on making some complex masterpiece, Sam unable to picture the shapes and forms the uncountable cuts that have been made on him were supposed to represent. It hurt, of course, but he tried to not let it show. He stayed immobile as told, only daring to breathe during the short intervals when the blade was removed from his flesh, and when it seemed that Dean was done with carving him like an ice sculpture, he let his body relax and took a deep, ragged breath.

“Hmm, not bad. I’m pretty good at this, after all.” The disembodied, satisfied voice of his captor’s felt like burning needles poking his insides, and then Sam couldn’t help but let out a startled whimper when he felt something warm and wet above his belly button, only taking him a fraction of a second to realize that Dean was licking him. Two hands grabbed his waist and held him in place, and he felt the other smile against his skin, though he assumed it was more of a wicked smirk. “What is it? Don’t you like it?” He licked Sam again, and his breath got stuck in his throat. “Right, of course you don’t. But don’t worry, darling. You’ll enjoy this soon enough.”

Yeah, right. Sam honestly doubted that he’d get any enjoyment out of getting tormented and licked. And kissed. Because now Dean wasn’t only lapping at his wounds, which stung each time the eager tongue slid along them, but he was also showering Sam’s chest with kisses. Lingering and small, tender and hard, sneaked in between long licks, Dean kissed every inch of his skin, and damn him to Hell, it didn’t feel too bad. Quite the contrary. The man, who he liked to imagine was truly the handsome one he met in front of the coffee shop, was cleaning his chest, gathering up all the spilled blood with his tongue, and—even though, hello, he had a girlfriend—all that licking was starting to gradually fill Sam’s cock. Which shouldn’t have been possible, because when his wounds got licked, that wasn’t pleasant at all, but apparently his dick had some very different ideas, especially when that jerk began sucking on his nipples. On his goddamn nipples. Self-control cracking, he tugged on the ropes and tilted his head back with a muffled whine, breathing loudly through his nostrils. He was tempted to buck his hips, but that would have been akin to admitting defeat, along with some other things, so he decided to writhe instead. That wasn’t too easy with Dean holding him down, plus the ropes made too much moving around impossible, but he still tried.

After the faint sounds of climbing, he felt the other’s hot breath against his ear, and a thrilled little shiver ran across his body, triggering a wave of nausea, because wow. Was he really slowly getting turned on from this? “You’re finally getting it, aren’t you?” Dean whispered mysteriously, temptingly, and tugged on one of Sam’s nipples, drawing a miserable moan from him. “That’s right. This is what you want. You’re just like me, aren’t you? Wearing a mask. Always smiling and acting happy…while you thirst for more.” Sam tilted his head to the side and arched his back slightly as the other nipped at his earlobe. “I can give you more. I want to. And I will. I’ll show you what you’ve been missing out on. Show you what really living means.”

He whimpered, cock giving an interested twitch, and took in a deep breath as he sensed Dean pull away and get off the table. And he was pretty damn sure he was going to Hell after this, if he ended up dead…because he was feeling kind of excited.

*

 

The dagger he used lay bloody on the white cloth on one of the narrow tables as Dean picked up his next item. The dildo was big, but not as much as him. He didn’t want _It_ too open, didn’t want the precious moment of sliding into Its tight hole being too easy. He just needed It open enough. Prepared enough for what was to come. Pun intended.

He grabbed the bottle of lube and the rest of the utensils he’d need for this, before turning back to It and stopping for a moment to study and gaze at the artwork he’d made. He was rather proud of himself. The words came out illegible and the little heart at the end was more or less recognizable. “Dean’s property”, it read, and he made sure to make the cuts nice and deep, so they’d leave a scar when they would heal. Mark It forever as his. It was already inside him, Its blood in Dean’s stomach, and it was a wonderful feeling. Its blood was delicious, better than anything he’d tasted before, sweet and metallic. Addicting. Licking his lips from the memory of it, Dean hummed in anticipation, planning on tasting more of that blood which also belonged to him now, along with many other things he couldn’t wait to get his tongue on.

“You can move around now, if you want,” he told It as he opened the cap of the bottle and poured some lube on his fingertips. “But I suppose you will be moving even if you don’t want to.” He smirked as It let out a soft whine, chest rising and falling rapidly, but not only from fear anymore. It was hard now, Its cock resting against Its stomach, and twitching in excitement at irregular intervals. The sight made Dean’s mouth water, and he put the dildo along with the rest of the things on one narrow table and gulped, his own breathing picking up.

He usually didn’t let himself be influenced by anything happening around him, never let them get to him. Dean had exemplary self-control, but still, he was already so fucking hard in his pants, and his fingers were itching to touch, to reach out and grab and pull, stroke and tug, to squeeze and twist. No need to rush. He could take his time with It, had hours of fun before him… He just wasn’t sure if he could last that long before coming in his pants.

Whatever. Dean wasn’t a masochist, so he wouldn’t forbid himself from getting his hands on what was his anyway.

It froze and emitted a pitiful little sound as Dean rubbed a finger against Its hole. It was tight and small. Perfect. He used his free hand to wrap his fingers around Its cock, giving it a few strokes, resulting in It bucking helplessly into his fist and arching away from the table, another wretched moan muffled by the gag Dean had put in Its mouth. Maybe he’d remove it later. Along with the blindfold.

He prodded at Its entrance for a while longer before slipping his finger inside. Warm and tight, It clenched down around his finger, making curling and wiggling the digit around that much harder, but he didn’t mind. He wanted it that way, the mere thought of having his dick in something that tight sending more blood to his aforementioned dick straining against his pants. The flesh in his other hand was hard and hot as he stroked it. Up and down, with long and drawn-out drags, he slowly jerked it; watched It buck helplessly on the table, seemingly fighting to keep Its urges under control, but evidently failing as Its hips snapped up in seek of some more friction.

When Dean withdrew his hands, It emitted a muffled whine before stilling on the table, trying to even out Its breathing by taking deep and shaky breaths. “There you go. Wasn’t that hard, now was it? Giving in.” He wiped his finger on his pants and picked up the dildo again, lubing it up a bit, then pressed it against Its hole, smirking when Its breath hitched. “Tsk tsk, don’t get too worked up. I suggest you relax. Or don’t, if you’d rather want to feel some pain with your pleasure,” he said meaningfully, before proceeding to push the head of the dildo in Its ass.

Watching It squirm as the toy breached Its tight ring of muscle, then slid past it to finally lie snugly in Its ass was something rather entertaining. And arousing. It tried to struggle and yank on the ropes, pull back from the intrusion and close Its legs, but the binds never let It. “Beautiful,” he whispered as he forced the last of the dildo inside the other, marveling at how well It took the toy. It was a really tight fit, but now he had it all the way in, and while he noticed how Its erection has subsided from the forceful entry, Dean didn’t worry. He knew It would be moaning in sheer pleasure soon enough.

“Alright. I’ll remove the gag now,” he informed It, too greedy to keep all those inevitable moans behind the rubber ball. He wanted to hear them, loud and clear, especially since what he was about to do would certainly force some sweet sounds from the other. “But don’t even think about screaming or asking for help. You can, but nobody’s going to hear you. I made very sure of that. So you can, but then you’d be disobeying me, and that would result in punishment.” He leaned forward, hands planted on either side of Its waist. “Would you like to get punished?”

It shook Its head no, swallowing visibly, and Dean fought the urge to lick that delicious Adam’s apple.

“Good,” he continued, before reaching behind Its head and undoing the straps holding the gag in place. He tossed the now useless thing on one of the tables, hungry fire spreading through his body as he saw It lick Its lips, saw as those pink and shiny lips parted for air, and while Dean, again, was a master of self-control, he still found himself climbing back on the table and capturing the other’s lips in a heated kiss. It made a surprised sound, which was immediately muted and drunk by him, one hand gripping Its silky smooth hair while the other held onto Its jaw, opening it so he could push his tongue inside. It tried and failed at turning Its head away, and was after a while forced into submission by Dean’s talented tongue that gradually discovered every inch of that wet cavern that was Its mouth, sliding it alongside the other’s tongue and kissing It breathless. He sucked on Its bottom lip, tugged at Its tongue with his teeth and growled into the kiss when It finally returned it, before easing away. He didn’t go too far, though, face just hovering before the other’s, and when it seemed like It was about to say something, he began lapping at those pretty lips.

“S-Stop…” It breathed miserably even as Dean licked It, not seeming to mind it too much, which made him smile.

“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart, and we both know that,” he stated, biting the other’s chin, chuckling when It whimpered. “It’s fine. I know exactly what you want. I’ve been watching… Learning. I know you want to be taken and claimed. And I’m right in thinking that, aren’t I?”

It remained silent for the longest moment, then shook Its head, pressing Its lips together into a thin line before stammering, “You’re wro-wrong. I’m not… I don’t…”

“Yes, you do,” Dean said easily and flatly, grabbing the other’s dick and giving it a squeeze, drawing a small gasp from It. “Come on, Sammy. I know it. I know how it is with people like you.” He kissed Its neck, smirking against Its skin when he heard It take in a sharp breath and keep it in, the air as if stuck in Its throat. “You’re all happy and bubbly, kind to everyone you meet. You’re the sweetest and nicest thing that walked the earth, not even thinking or considering who you’re kind to before acting. It’s this kindness that’s got you here. It’s the reason as to why you’re right here, right now. But that’s fine, right? It’s exciting and you want more. Different from the ordinary, from the boring, the thrill gets you going like nothing else. You’ve been waiting for this moment for your whole life, so much that you can’t even stay in character. Can’t act terrified and disgusted by the situation when you’re enjoying it so fucking much.” Dean tugged on the other’s—once again hard as a rock—dick and let out a deep, dirty chuckle when It made a wretched sound. “Right?”

“No,” It protested, but without any heat behind Its words, without any real resistance. Dean’s got It in his clutches, just as he thought. Just as he knew.

“This turns you on,” he continued, now leaning close to Its ear and whispering the revealing words, lips brushing against the shell of Its ear. “Saying no and struggling. The fantasy that you’re being forced, that all of this is happening against your will.”

“It’s not a fantasy!” It exclaimed weakly, as if too afraid to speak up but feeling the need to. “I have been kidnapped, o-of course all of this is against my will. It’s not a fantasy.”

Dean glanced at Its face, at Its visibly clenched jaw and taut expression, before shaking his head. “Of course,” he drawled, smirk back on his face as he thumbed the other’s slit and got a lewd little gasp in return, Its body betraying Its words as Its hips jerked. “Of course you don’t want any of this. We need to keep up the act, after all. Make it as real and believable as possible. That’s what rape fantasies are all about, yes?”

It made an exasperated sound, squirming pathetically under him. “No, I’m not… I’m not that sick,” It insisted, voice nearly breaking as It swallowed thickly, shaking Its head almost frantically. “I’m not, not that fucked u-up.” It snarled. “I’m not like you.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “Like me? You know nothing about me. You have no idea what kind of animal I am,” he said lowly, letting go of Its dick and trailing his fingertips along the other’s wounds on Its chest.

Shivering under the touch, It gasped, “I know that you kidnap people. That you’re some sort of sadist who probably gets off on cutting others and…and raping them.”

“And you say that like it’s a bad thing.” He chuckled innocently, swiping his thumb along Its bottom lip, eyes narrowing when It wretched Its head away from his finger. “You want this. It doesn’t matter what you say, I’ve got enough proof that tells me what I already knew from the beginning.”

“And what’s that?” It retorted, Its voice suggesting It was glaring behind the blindfold. “That you’re a psycho? A serial rapist?”

“That you’re a closet-slut who just wants to be used, someone who needs someone dominant enough to force him on his knees, force him to submit completely. Physically and mentally,” he stated and climbed off the table, before giving the bottom of the dildo in Its hole a strong nudge, cause It to flinch. “But you needn’t worry. I would be more than happy to make that dream of yours come true, grant you that wish.”

“You asshole,” It hissed, voice tiptoeing around a whine but staying even enough to come out more or less insulting, and if not for the fact that It was tied to a table, blindfolded and with a sex toy up Its ass, and that Dean wasn’t one to get scared easily, or at all, he might have felt slightly intimidated. Not.

“Please, call me Dean,” he said jokingly and picked up the device that went with the dildo.

“What are you doing?” It asked suddenly when he inserted the narrow pole sticking out of the device into the correspondent hole in the bottom of the dildo, connecting the toy to the portable machine, which he then put on the edge of the table.

“Just setting up something fun that’ll tame you,” he answered simply as he secured the clamp and attached the machine to the edge of the table, before giving it a good shake to test its mobility. It didn’t budge. Perfect.

It squirmed in unease, wiggling Its hips desperately. “I don’t need it. Just…take it out and let me go. I won’t tell anyone what happened, I swear. Just let me go.” There was a pause before It added, “Please.”

Dean just patted Its knee and smiled to himself as he looked down at It, spread out on the table and with the dildo buried deep in Its ass. The dildo that was now attached to a sex machine, and which, upon pressing the red button on its side, would activate and start fucking It at a merciless speed, exceeding that of a mere human’s. And Dean couldn’t wait to see the look on Its face when Its ass would get destroyed by this fancy little machine. “You would tell. You’d want to share what happened to you, would want them to feel sorry for you. You would want to see how they’d react to your story, would pretend you were the victim, while secretly enjoying every second of it,” he explained, speaking with confidence, as if he could read the other’s mind, and judging by the way It tensed at his words, he wasn’t that far off.

“Don’t—” It began, clearing Its throat and taking in a ragged breath. “Don’t expect everyone to act the same way you would. I wouldn’t be like that. You’re just…just delusional. You’re crazy.”

He rolled his eyes, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling in dramatic exasperation. “Oh come on,” he groaned, before picking up a cock ring and forcing it on the other’s erection, ignoring the startled sound coming from It. “I won’t deny that I’ve got some crazy in my brain. It’s a fun kind of crazy. At least for me. But you’re not innocent, either. Get as defensive as you want—” he let go of Its dick carelessly and stepped back, finger resting on the smooth button of the machine “—but end of the day, you’ll still be begging for more. Begging for me. And then, that’ll be my victory.”

He then pressed the button.

*

 

Sam was so fucked up.

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with him? Everything this Dean guy said, it was true. He of course wouldn’t admit to any of it, not in his life, not even if a gun was held to his head. He was reluctant to even admit it to himself, it was so wrong. He wanted it. Wanted to brag about the experience, yes, while pretending it was something horrible and traumatic. Wanted others to feel sorry for him while he relived the memories, things that didn’t even happen yet, but just the thought of the future filled him with a twisted sort of joy.

He called Dean names, but in reality, he was the delirious one here, wasn’t he?

“You’re crazy,” he had said. And he meant it. But his heart skipped a beat, his blood was on fire, feeling like liquid lava in his veins, and his cock was harder than ever, so the accusation wasn’t something he thought of as a bad thing. Quite the contrary, crazy seemed to turn him on. Crazy seemed to get his blood pumping and his heart go into overdrive. Crazy lit up his senses, sent rabid butterflies roaming in his stomach and woke up the slumbering beast in his chest, the deep purring rumbling through him as a primal pleasure.

And he might have been scared—he would have honestly been concerned for his sanity if he wouldn’t at least been frightened in this situation—but even that fear thrilled him, a fact Sam tried to ignore for now and leave to ponder on later. Much later. Or hopefully never.

When the cock ring—because while he couldn’t see, he could recognize the texture and its familiar drag on the skin—was forced on him, Sam hissed but kept his voice in. Talking wasn’t doing much good, but it helped him vent a little. That is, when Dean wasn’t throwing his words right back at him, twisting and changing them to make a complete pervert out of him. He kind of missed the gag now, especially since with it gone, he couldn’t stop some of the sounds that all but jumped out of his mouth, stubbornly forcing their way past his teeth and lips, and humiliating him in the process.

Not to mention the thick toy that had to be a dildo in his ass, just stuck in there. Dean had shoved that thing in him and then just left it there. It was getting more and more uncomfortable, Sam squirming then thinking better of it, as moving around just made it worse, nudged the toy against places he’d rather leave untouched. Namely his prostate, yes. Something else was attached to the dildo now, though, keeping it in place, so when he accidentally moved while the ring was forced on him, the toy didn’t come with him. Attached to what, he had no idea, but he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t like the answer, so he didn’t quite feel like finding out.

Dean was sounding way too confident, and it was irking him a bit. A lot. And also perturbing him, because that dark and eager tone in the man’s voice as he mentioned his victory had him breaking out in cold sweat, kind of afraid for his life here. But he’d be damned if he admitted defeat to this maniac. He was right, Sam knew nothing of him, but the ease he managed to kidnap him with, and the fact that he totally carved something in his chest suggested Dean wasn’t normal. Maybe he really was a rapist. Or a murderer. None of these options made him think happy thoughts, so instead he listened to the jerk speak, then put on his game face and snarled.

“Begging for you?” he snorted, hoping he came across as disdainful and not nervous. “You really have one hell of a narcissistic personali—” He heard the faint click of something, maybe a button being pressed, and then suddenly whatever he wanted to say evaporated from his mind, the rest of the sentence disappearing and replaced by a high-pitched gasp, instantly followed by a cry and a confused moan as the dildo just started moving by itself. In and out, and at a quick pace right from the start, completely taking Sam by surprise, so he needed a few moments he spent writhing and whimpering in shock before he noticed the low buzz of a machine.

A sex machine.

Sam wasn’t an avid user of sex toys, didn’t participate in BDSM stuff, was more of a vanilla type in bed, but even he has heard about these sorts of machines. Some can be homemade, for those more adventurous ones, attaching a dildo to some mechanic tool, or be store bought. Either way the thing would move with incredible speed, quite literally impaling and brutally fucking the recipient in a way that looked sort of painful when Sam first stumbled upon a video that depicted its use. Quite thoroughly.

Yes, he watched hardcore porn, and so what?

Anyway, he recognized the way the rubber toy slid almost, or more like exactly, mechanically in and out of him, at exactly the same angle and speed, so it wasn’t Dean who was thrusting it in him. Plus the buzz was sort of a giveaway, too, so yeah, he was definitely getting fucked by a machine. Great.

And it wasn’t like he could keep his voice in anymore, not with the way the fake penis was assaulting his hole with punishing thrusts, never slowing or halting, and just when he began worrying about chafing, he felt a cold fluid—lube, he hoped—being drizzled onto his hole, rendering the experience less uncomfortable, but Sam wasn’t exactly sure if he was relieved by that fact. It helped the dildo move with much more ease, the slip and slide of it bringing more pleasure than discomfort, and soon enough, way sooner than he would’ve liked, Sam couldn’t help but react.

“P-Please, no!” he gasped, his plea drawing out into a whine that sounded pitiful and pathetic even to his own ears, body jerking with nearly each unforgiving thrust. That damn thing was nailing his fucking prostate like a hammer, sending bursts of searing pleasure through every fiber of his body, Sam not even trying to hold the moans and hopeless cries back as he writhed almost sensually. He would have liked to think that he was doing so in anguish, you know, for his sanity and all, but the noises he made betrayed him each and every time.

He whimpered loudly, the rapid-fire of fireworks going off behind his eyelids and washing through him like a tidal wave with each relentless thrust blinding his judgment and muting the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him to fight, to flee and resist, to do something, _anything_ aside from just lying there like the pliable victim. But it was no use—Sam was already too far gone, rational thoughts packing up and leaving him only after spending a few minutes under the onslaught of the machine. It was the constant rush of sensations that did it for him, the never-ending press and press and press against his prostate. Completely helpless and unable to escape from the situation, no matter how much he struggled and thrashed, Sam was held in place by his bonds while the machine just did its job with enthusiasm, fucking him sore and raw.

His hole wasn’t prepared and the dildo wasn’t small. It obviously hurt, maybe even as much as the nicks and sharp cuts of the blade that had decorated his chest with wounds that, fortunately, have stopped bleeding by now. They still stung, though. Throbbed with a dull pain that he registered at the back of his mind, but his main focus was on the violent shivers and ripples of pleasure slamming through him and leaving him arching from the table, his head thrown back as lewd moan after moan were wretched out of him.

For minutes, the only sounds echoing around and amplified by the large empty space around them that could’ve been a room or a chamber, a basement for all he knew, were the whir of the machine working and his despicably weak, dirty groans. That lasted a long time before Dean finally spoke, maybe half an hour, maybe just five minutes later, Sam couldn’t tell, but when he did, the man’s hands have found their way to his leaking and painfully erect cock, drawing a hitched gasp from him when his hot flesh was abruptly grabbed and stroked.

“Not that keen on talking back anymore, are you? Not that you could speak like this, anyway, but you get the point…” he heard the man say in an amused tone, the devious smirk audible in his voice. Sam could even picture that smirk in his head, the mental image sending yet another shiver down his spine and punching a noise that resembled a sob from him. Dean chuckled at his reaction, obviously enjoying this, then gave his dick a sharp twist and jerk, making Sam quite literally scream.

“Oh my God, stop—stop please!” he cried, not sure if he was hyperventilating at this point, or merely panting this hard from the sheer amount of pleasure-pain radiating from him and filling every crevice of his body. “E-Enough, please,” he begged shamelessly, not caring about his dignity, just needing this to end. He was pretty sure he was close to getting overstimulated, and he had to wonder if he could faint from the overwhelming sensations. Or from the inability to orgasm. That could probably push him over the edge and have him check out, though he had to admit that while that sounded pretty appealing, rendered unconscious from too much sex sounded…well, the contrary of appealing. Rather humiliating.

“Stop?” Came the question that wasn’t really a question, more like a word purred out in a goading, teasing way as the man prodded and thumbed the head of his cock, drawing a whine from him when Dean massaged the underside of his cock between two fingers. “Would you really want that? With this pretty, needy cock of yours just begging to be touched and pampered? I doubt that stopping would do it or you any good. You want more, not less, Sammy. It’s okay, just admit it—admit to what I’ve seen in you from the second I met you, and then I promise I’ll let you come. That’s what you want, right?”

He shook his head, sweaty strands of his hair flying everywhere and sticking to his face, tickling his nose, but he was too busy concentrating on not to fuck the man’s fist to care. “I won’t admit to shit!” he managed to snarl, thankfully sounding like he meant it and not like some broken toy, a wanton shell of a man. Which he kind of was, because that jackass was right, and deep down, he sure as hell didn’t want this to stop. He wanted to come, yeah, his high on pleasure brain helping him have a one-track mind that had only the sweet release in mind, and the need to feel good, so good. But admitting to that? No way. It wouldn’t happen. He still had at least some of his self-restraint and he wasn’t going to throw that away because his cock couldn’t get enough of the way Dean was working it with both hands, kneading and stroking, twisting and pulling, pumping and massaging it while the dildo continued its ruthless assault on his ass and prostate…

That was easier said than done, but with his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, Sam managed to keep the obscene sounds to the minimum. But damn, was it difficult.

“Of course,” Dean said in agreement and with a shrug in his alarmingly casual voice, all the while never stopping fondling Sam’s cock. “Of course you wouldn’t admit it. That, and coming so soon, would be against your fantasy, wouldn’t it?” He chuckled, and the other felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, his chest heaving as his breathing picked up even more, beads of sweat prickling his skin and beginning to form on his temples. “Being rebellious ‘till the end, right? No matter what I say, no matter how much you actually—and let’s face it, you do really—want this, you would never admit to it. Rape fantasy must involve rape, after all.”

“I’m telling you, I’m no-not like that!” Sam whined in frustration, hitting the back of his head against the table with an exasperated groan. All that earned him was an amused chuckle from the man, along with a harder twist of his wrist as he jacked Sam off, and just like that, not even his teeth digging so deep in his bottom lip that he could taste blood on his tongue could stop the downright lewd moan springing free from his throat. “Please!” he cried, muscles straining as he tugged on the ropes and arched his back, bucking up as much as the dildo still administering its punishment in him let him. Pleasure exploded in his body, his lower half burning as if it was dipped in lava, and even though he couldn’t see a thing, he just knew that his chest, neck, and whole face probably flushed a deep red too.

“What?” came the low, irritatingly calm response as Dean swiped his thumb across the slit of the other’s cock, eliciting an abrupt and wretched whimper from him. “Please what? Please no, please stop, please let me go? Or…please more?” He slid his hands down, pressing them against Sam’s groins while his thumbs went to work on his balls this time, prodding and massaging them, rolling and freaking playing with them until Sam just couldn’t stop his hips from moving nonstop.

“Please…” he repeated, not actually sure what he was pleading for himself. Did he want the man to stop? Maybe, but that would have meant a nasty case of blue balls for him, which he wouldn’t have fancied. Then did he want more? Not really, but he knew one thing—he really wanted to come. Be it by his own, or this Dean’s hands, he was beyond the point to care. He just wanted to feel that sweet release, wanted that dull ache of his building orgasm being forcibly denied of him gone, just wanted to be able to think again, because the pleasure and the desperation were going to his head, clouding it enough to make clear thinking close to impossible. So he wasn’t sure, didn’t know what exactly it was that he wanted, though he supposed that even if he did, he couldn’t have phrased it; not with the way speaking coherent sentences was becoming more and more difficult.

Probably noticing his inability to form an intelligible answer, however apparently not caring the slightest, Dean pressed his thumbs harder into his balls before moving one of them down to trace along Sam’s widely stretched hole around the dildo thrusting away in him. Fucking thing was nailing his prostate more times than not, and while that wasn’t such a bad thing, the warm lube was beginning to disappear from his skin, which was really starting to feel sore now. “I’m going to take that as an acknowledgement. Or maybe, in this case, a prayer for help that we both know will never come. Don’t want it to come. Am I right, Sammy…?” he purred in a hypnotizing tone, the whiskey-smooth voice of the man making Sam feel dizzy for a moment, before he was snatched back into reality when the machine abruptly stopped, ripping a wounded sound from him which, to his ears, sounded way too pitiful and somewhat disappointed. Which, of course, he wasn’t.

“Wh-What,” he began, throat a bit hoarse from the constant moaning and the loud cries that never ceased to leave his lips while under the machine’s care, “what are you doing?”

He received a chuckle as an answer, moments before he heard the sound of a click, metal on metal, and felt the dildo being pulled out of him way too fast for his liking, drawing a hiss from him. “I’m sure you’re nice and open enough for me by now. Hope you don’t mind, but I’d rather you beg for release while getting fucked by my cock, instead of some toy.”

“Wha…” Was all he managed before wet fingers circled his shamefully wide open hole, then just slid in like that, three of them slipping past the fluttering ring of muscle with ease. “No,” he protested weakly, somehow not having it in him anymore. He wasn’t one to give up so easily, but his asshole was dripping with lube again while he was getting fingered, the digits in him as if testing how open and ready he was. Sam shivered when the man’s nail grazed against what he assumed to be his prostate, a tiny sound escaping him as he turned his head to the side, chewing on his lips and poking at the wounds already there with his tongue.

He wanted some sort of distraction from this, but there was nothing. He was tied to some table, for fuck’s sake, and with his sight rendered useless for the moment, he was practically forced to focus on the digits sliding in and out of him, at the reaction and feeling that created in his body; at the way his cock leaked on his stomach, how much his downstairs brain craved the touch and screamed yes, while his upstairs, rational brain yelled no.

“Done. You’re more than ready to take me,” Dean informed him as he withdrew his fingers, and Sam tensed when he could hear the telltale sound of a knife being pulled out of its sheath. “Aw, no need to look so terrified. I won’t eat you,” he said with a voice that suggested that should have been a thing for Sam to worry about. Great, was he being held captive by a cannibal? Or maybe that was just a warning, reminding Sam that it could be worse? He really hoped for the latter. “I don’t quite feel like skinning you and wearing your hide. Oh, but there is another way I’d love to ‘wear’ you. Be all warm thanks to you, your flesh around me as I’m buried deep inside you… Yeah. That sounds like a better idea, don’t you think?”

“Just stop, just—please,” Sam begged, trying one more time even though he knew his pleas were doing nothing. Well, maybe not nothing. Maybe the guy was getting turned on by them. He would have sighed, but was too busy holding his breath as the knife he heard was now against his skin, the blunt edge trailing up his ankle and under the rope wrapped around it, before giving it a few quick slashes and releasing one of Sam’s ankles. He did the same with the other leg, but disappointingly did not move to his arms and free them as well.

“No kicking,” Dean warned him before the thought could’ve even crossed his mind, and Sam was about to misbehave big time and kick out, aiming blindly at the man’s crotch, but the knife stopped him, now the sharp side pressed firmly into his inner thigh. When the man spoke again, his dark and alarmingly deep voice came from a little closer. “If you try anything, I’ll open your artery and use your blood as lube while fucking you until you bleed out and die.”

That sent an icy chill down his spine and across the rest of his body, Sam even feeling the tingle in his toes, and after a tension filled moment, he nodded.

“Good,” the man said almost cheerily, tapping the knife friendlily against his thigh, then there were the sounds of a belt being unbuckled, clothes getting discarded, and a minute later, Dean was on the table with him. Sam clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to writhe and struggle as his legs were grabbed and pushed up, before spread obscenely wide open, and for the first time he was glad for the blindfold. He could only imagine how he must look like right now.

Probably like some cheap slut. Yay.

He yelped at the sudden wetness against his neck as Dean licked him, Sam now able to sense his presence above him. The man was hovering, close enough for him to feel the other’s warmth emanating from his body, and nipping at his throat, smiling against his skin when he swallowed thickly.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Dean whispered in his ear, hot breath raising the hair on his arms and making him suck in a sharp breath, arousal rippling through him as the tongue traced along the outline of his ear before nibbling on his earlobe. “Isn’t this what you not-want? Being taken, forced into submission. Total loss of control. Completely at someone else’s mercy, you not having to worry about anything, just letting the other take and take, and…” Dean bit him behind his ear. “Take.”

Sam did not whimper, but whatever sound pushed itself past his lips sounded pretty similar to it. He leaned his head away, voice awfully quiet as he said, “No, you’re wrong. That’s not… This isn’t like that.” He took a breath to steady himself as Dean hummed in amusement above him. “This…is rape, damn it. No matter what I might or might not like, those cannot be applied to this, because this—this isn’t consensual.”

“Right. And you’re not rock hard, leaving a pretty pool of precome on your stomach. Not so fucking turned on you would’ve burst by now if not for the cock ring. And I’m sure if you feel revulsion toward this, real disgust, then you wouldn’t moan like a little bitch if I were to pinch your nipple,” the man stated with a sardonic coldness in his tone as he flicked Sam’s right nipple, then pinched and rolled it between his fingers, earning a defeated whine from the other.

“F-Fuck you,” Sam spat immediately, shamefaced and feeling like his whole head has been shoved right into the sun or something.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather fuck you instead,” Dean sneered, biting his jaw before pulling back and wrapping Sam’s legs around his waist. He was tempted to roll his eyes at the cocky comment, but then the man’s hands were taking a hold of the blindfold, and Sam barely had time to squeeze his wide eyes shut before it was removed from this head. “There we go, much better… Sam. Look at me.”

He shook his head, furrowing his brow stubbornly as the man grabbed his hair and tugged at it, an ever so slight tremble passing through his body as he heard Dean quite literally growl.

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

Sam’s stomach did an impressive back flip at those words, nervousness growing in him as more time passed, and when his hair received a harsh yank for the third time, he knew he either had to oblige or risk letting Dean rip his hair out. And since he liked his hair…

He cracked his eyes open, one at a time, before opening them fully. The first thing he saw were a pair of emerald eyes staring right at him, in a face that screamed predatory power and smooth charm. A familiar face. “You…” He trailed off, licking his lips as Dean’s own plump ones stretched into a crooked smirk.

“Told you who I was. Nice of you to remember me,” he said with a playful flame flickering in those enticing eyes, Sam gulping audibly as he gazed into them, into those dark pits that used to be pupils, swallowing up the man’s eyes and only leaving a thin line of green eclipsed by the pool of black swimming with animalistic lust.

Ripping his eyes from the other’s, Sam quickly took a look around, finally taking in his surroundings. Some dank abandoned building, he guessed, with broken windows, chains and dirty plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling, with industrial-looking shelves pressed against walls and looking like they could crumble if anyone as much as breathed on them. A warehouse, then. Glancing down, he grimaced and had to stifle a snort as he noticed the many cuts on his chest and words that could be read as “Dean’s property”. Bastard. He was lying on some sort of steel table, before which were two more tables, narrower and covered with a cloth, on which lay a variety of objects of which Sam could only recognize half. Those he did know didn’t look appealing at all—several different kinds of knives and vibrators, clamps and weights, some sort of butt plug with a fox tail attached to one end?—and he was immensely glad he didn’t get to experience any of them. Admittedly, the blade and the machine were bad enough, but those were still better than having some heavy weight put on his balls and… Yeah, he didn’t even want to think about that.

Dean’s light caress across one of the many wounds on his chest brought him back from his reverie, his gaze shifting back to the man whose own gaze was following his hand as it journeyed down Sam’s chest until it reached his navel, where he dipped his thumb into his belly button, sending a strange surge of arousal through him. “Your eyes are still as pretty as I remembered them. So very pretty…” Dean whispered in a distant voice, as if he was thinking about some very disturbing thoughts concerning Sam’s eyes, making him avert his gaze in anxiety.

Please, don’t let this guy be one of those that like to keep human body parts in jars, please.

“So pretty,” he repeated, leaning down and sighing against Sam’s collarbone, “and all mine.” He then proceeded to nip and suck at the bone there while stroking the other’s thighs, then suddenly he was pulling back, running his tongue along his teeth in a sensual manner, before lining his thick, long, hard cock up with Sam’s entrance. Oh right. He didn’t even realize the man was naked.

And what a sight he was. Broad shoulders, well-toned chest, delicious abs and muscular arms, a body to die for, and of course that mouth-watering cock, already so damn hard with fat veins bulging under the surely warm, smooth skin—

Whoa there, did he really just think that?

He didn’t quite have the time to contemplate on his suddenly perverted thoughts, as Dean had apparently taken his silence as consent, and began sliding the head of his cock into his ass, catching Sam completely off-guard and pushing a gasp out of him. “Wait, no. Dean, Dean stop!” He raised his voice in panic, the last word blurring into a whine as the man thrust forward, forcing more of his erection inside, and while it didn’t actually hurt as much as he thought it would, it still ached, the stretch worse than the dildo, and it felt so warm and alive inside him that Sam couldn’t help but whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. You’ll love this,” Dean stated with a dark laugh, grabbing his knees when Sam tried to close his legs, his heart nearly stopping when he noticed the knife still in one of the man’s hands, meaning he had no chance of fighting back. To make things worse, that jerk kept moving his hips, shoving his dick deeper and deeper until eventually he bottomed out with a groan matching Sam’s. “Fuck. Fuck yes, this is what I wanted. Sammy, you feel so damn good, you have no idea,” Dean purred, hands finding their way to his hips and holding them with an iron grip, hard enough that Sam knew his skin would have finger-shaped bruises on it tomorrow. That is, if he’d still have his skin tomorrow. Or for that matter, be alive.

A soft, weak moan managed to slip past his lips, cruelly betraying him in the process, but Christ, he was so full and Dean was rolling his hips lazily, looking so hot above him, and wow, alright, Sam was messed up for finding anything hot about this situation. Really messed up.

But lying to himself was no use anymore, not with a cock belonging to possibly the most handsome man he’s ever seen fitting snugly in his ass, and he kinda hated himself for this, but he was starting to look forward to how getting fucked by the real thing would feel like…

*

 

The object of his desire, the exotic and mysterious, beautiful creature he’s been yearning for was finally his. Lying beneath him, panting, half-lidded eyes gazing up at him with a confused arousal shining through them. Dean knew he had his prey from the moment he caught it. From the very moment he sunk his claws in It, no, from the second he set his eyes on It…Sam was destined to become his. Was his, all this time. It just didn’t know. But now everything was so much more intense, clearer. This was the moment of ultimate claiming, when Dean would prove a point, drive it home with his cock.

Now was the real moment he made It into _his Sammy_.

“De-Dean, please, stop,” his Sammy whimpered, tipping his head back and letting his delicate, silky smooth hair form a halo around his head, splaying over the table and revealing the deliciously flushed face of this human perfection.

He lowered his body and dove in for the treat, unable to resist the throat bared just for him. The long, possessive swipe of his tongue drew a gasp from his Sam, his body tensing under Dean as another pitiful sound escaped him, this one more along the lines of pleasure than surprise. “C’mon, pretty boy,” he purred, noting with interest how his voice audibly dropped an octave, how his hot breath skating over the other’s warm skin made him visibly shiver. “You’re being taken. Something you obviously want. Be good and stop pretending to resist.”

At that, his Sam made an incredulous, yet weak sound, turning his head to look Dean in the eyes and exclaim, “I’m not pretending!”

Dean simply raised an eyebrow at him, before chuckling. “Of course you’re not. Of course,” he said, sensing another protest coming from the other’s mouth, however not in the mood to listen to his excuses, no matter how amusing they were, he pulled out a little, then abruptly snapped his hips forward, succeeding in knocking the air right out of his Sam’s lungs. “Hm? Sorry, did you want to say something?”

“Fuck y-you…” his Sammy breathed, averting before squeezing his eyes shut, and parting his lips, an indirect invitation Dean couldn’t possibly refuse. Caught by surprise as Dean captured those precious lips in a scorching kiss, his Sam moaned into his mouth, tugging at the restraints and arching like a sensual bow as Dean began moving again, now not stopping for even a moment.

He set an even pace, with long pulls and forceful thrusts, rocking his Sam’s body and eliciting one heavenly sound from him after another. Sudden gasps and drawn-out mewls, silent screams and loud groans, they were all music to Dean’s ears, and as he gradually sped up and lost his ever-so-perfect composure, the sounds became more frequent and lewd. His Sam wasn’t the only one producing them, though, as Dean himself couldn’t help but groan and even growl on several occasions, curses and praises pouring from his mouth as he buried himself deep inside the other, presumably nailing his prostate, because sometimes his Sammy couldn’t contain himself and threw his head back, producing some of the neediest keens and moans he has ever heard.

“Dean, Dean, Dean!” His Sam chanted his name like a mantra, repeating it over and over again between sounds of what had to be pure pleasure as Dean fucked him like he always imagined taking Sam. Good and hard, rough and memorable, but also with some passion. His hands traveled to the other’s legs, hooking under his knees and pushing them forward and against his Sammy’s chest, already knowing that he was agile and supple enough for this. Dean watched him for a very long time, after all.

“Yes, that’s it,” he drawled close to his Sam’s ear, hips slamming wildly into the other’s ass, this new position giving him more leverage and enabling him to go deeper, so much deeper. “Give in, baby. You love it, you want it.” He emphasized each word with a swift thrust, groaning with his Sam as that sweet, gorgeous ass swallowed him all up, Dean’s cock seemingly disappearing inside it as he pressed his hips flush against the other’s flesh. “Now all you need to do is admit it.”

But his Sammy shook his head, rebellious as ever, even as he moaned for Dean, only for his ears, the erotic sounds echoing in the open room and bouncing off the murky walls, warming the air already buzzing and heavy with lust and sex, their hot and alive bodies sliding against each other repelling the cold of the warehouse. It was as if they had their own little bubble of want and need, their own little world full of pleasure and ecstasy, with an invisible wall separating them from the cool and depressing weather, shutting them off from the outside world for these hypnotizing moments they spent connected. Dean felt it, and his Sam had to as well, his goosebumps disappearing and the only shivers that shook his body belonged to pleasure, skin burning and covered with a thin layer of sweat that glistened on his sun-kissed body. A picture of unrestrained euphoria, of a deity of desire in its purest form, that’s what writhed and emitted the sweetest sounds from under Dean, he was sure of it, and as he mated with this beautiful creature that had to be his soulmate, he swore to himself that after this, he would never let him go.

Lock Sammy in a cage if he had to, but Dean would keep him forever. All his, body and soul, every fiber of his being for Dean to take…

His own miracle on a leash.

And just as he thought, it didn’t take too long for his Sam to finally, finally give in and start begging.

“Dean, Dean, please… God D-Dean, oh my god, I need—” his Sam panted, arching like a sensual cat and bucking, seeking friction where he needed it the most and where Dean wouldn’t give it to him. The cock ring was doing an exemplary job at driving his Sammy crazy, the hard, pulsing flesh bouncing on his belly with his each thrust and smearing precome all over his sweaty skin. Dean would have been lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to grab it and jack his Sammy off, if only to see him writhe more, to hear him emit more of those hopeless, wounded little mewls; however Dean wanted him coming completely untouched, with only his dick pounding away in his ass and making him lose every last shred of self-control. Unraveled and tamed only by Dean’s cock… For that result, he was ready to sacrifice a few things, for instance giving up on making one of his most favored mental images—Sam unable to decide whether to snap his hips forward into Dean’s fist around his cock, or push back on Dean’s thick length nailing him like a battering ram—turn into reality. But that was okay.

He would have every opportunity to make a dirty mess out of his Sam after tonight, this fated and special night when he’d claim ownership of his prize under the silver rays of the full moon.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Dean purred with a lust-heavy voice, leaving yet another mark on his Sammy’s skin and drawing a keen from him, one which promptly turned into a startled and needy moan when he quickened his pace and drove his cock even deeper into the other’s ass. “It’s okay. Just tell me—” he slammed into his Sam hard, hitting the bull’s-eye and ramming his cock against his prostate with such intensity it could have been borderline painful “—what I want to hear. C’mon, baby boy. You can do it.” He bit down on the other’s earlobe, tugging and growling, sounding more like a hungry beast than a man. “Tell me. Say it. Fuckin’ say it, Sammy.”

His Sam screamed, threw his head back, his whole body shaken by a violent shiver even Dean could feel. He whimpered, and there were tears in his eyes now, face flushed a delicious red, almost as red as those sinful lips that were parting to let out nectar-sweet gasps, and shining with saliva as his Sammy licked them. “Dean,” the broken boy whined, all but sobbed out his name, and Dean could see the exact moment, could pinpoint it, when his magnificent, otherworldly goddess finally gave in, eyes so blown they had managed to completely swallow and erase any trace of hazel from the other’s irises. “Yes, _please_ ,” his Sam, his defeated darling beseeched with sex-drunk and what could only be best described as puppy eyes. “Dean, y-yes, I like it. I love it, I need i-it, more!” He tried to spread his legs further for Dean, neck bared and chest gravitating toward the other, his Sam’s whole body as if pulled and controlled by strings, even his bound arms struggling frantically to break free and presumably wrap around Dean.

Feeling a triumphant and alarmingly predatory grin stretch his lips to their limits, Dean fisted a hand in the other’s hair and yanked his head back, exposing more of that tempting throat and licking a hot, wet stripe up the sensitive skin. “More,” he growled, a bewitching order, an irrefutable command. “You know what else to say.”

Sam nodded deliriously, now successfully rendered into a blabbering mess. “Yes, _yes_ , I want y-you so much, Dean!” his Sammy cried with a high-pitched whimper, panting and trembling so much—and not just from the way his body was being rocked back and forth—that Dean wondered if he was on the verge of some sort of breakdown or panic attack. “I need you, please! O-Oh god, Dean, oh please, I love this, I w-want this, I—” He gasped, hitting the back of his head against the table with his eyes squeezed shut. “I love you!”

“Good boy,” Dean praised him, stealing those enticing lips in a ravishing and brazen kiss while slipping a hand between their bodies and taking a hold of the cock ring, before swiftly, without any warning whatsoever, ripping it off from the other’s cock. That earned him a loud and intense, but muffled scream, his Sam thrashing under him, his hips jerking uncontrollably, and when Dean felt the amazing clench around his own dick, he knew it was time.

He pulled back and groaned, both from the fluttering sensations around him and from the sight of his Sammy coming, face twisted in an expression of sheer and incomparable pleasure as his orgasm washed over his body like a tsunami and had him bucking like a mad bull. Ribbons of come landed on his Sam’s chest and stomach, his moans gradually turning into whimpers as he kept coming, very possibly hit by a second orgasm while Dean just kept ruthlessly fucking him through it all, wild slams of his hips never halting or slowing for even a second. And it wasn’t long before he was pushed over the edge as well, the sensations building and building until they spilled and he couldn’t keep them in anymore, Dean’s controlled thrusts suddenly turning erratic as his own orgasm crept up and slammed through him, taking him apart on the molecular level before putting him back together in fast-forward. His Sammy made an unrecognizable sound as he came deep inside his willing body, each thrust filling him with yet another spurt of come until Dean was left empty, and Sam impossibly full.

Collapsing on his Sam’s body from exhaustion, he lay there for a while, basking in the post-orgasmic bliss pulsing and purring in his body, enjoying the afterglow with his lover. Lover. Yes, Sammy was his now, has been marked both in and outside by Dean, and even if he wanted, he couldn’t escape from him anymore. They belonged to each other now, but surely, his Sam wouldn’t want to run. Not after getting a taste of what they could be. Of what they already were.

A long time passed with just the two of them getting their breathing under control, all of it spent by silence, save for their harsh panting and the occasional gusts of cold wind whistling and screaming, celebrating Sam and Dean’s connection in their eerie way. One of them had to move, though, and after a while it was Dean who got up and pulled out of the other, licking his lips appreciatively as he took in the nasty and debauched sight of his Sammy.

“How does it feel like?” he asked, voice raspy and low, deeper than the darkest cavern, as he climbed off the table and grabbed his handy knife.

His Sam blinked his eyes open, gaze just a bit unfocused as he raised his head and looked at Dean. “How…what?”

Dean chuckled. “How does it feel being owned?” He flashed his Sam a dirty, devilish grin as he gaped at him, before walking around the table and cutting the ropes binding the other to the table.

He immediately sat up, then hissed in discomfort, probably realizing that that wasn’t the brightest thing to do after getting brutally fucked. “I’m not owned by anyone…” his Sam mumbled, rubbing his bruised wrists with a frown and purposely avoiding Dean’s eyes, instead looking around the desolate warehouse.

“Sure, whatever you say,” Dean scoffed with a smirk, tossing the knife on one of the smaller tables before handing his Sam a dirty cloth with a pointed look at the sticky mess on his skin, which made his face turn an adorable shade of red. Dean watched wordlessly as his Sam cleaned himself, meanwhile he retrieved his clothes and put them on, before turning to the other, who now seemed like an uncomfortable, cornered animal ready to run at any second. “So,” Dean began, drawling the word as he slowly closed the distance between them and only stopping when he stood before the other, who he managed to back into the table, “what do you say you come home with me and I show you how good I am in an actual bed?”

His Sam gave him an incredulous look, watching him with slightly wide eyes for a long moment before snorting and trying to merge with the table pressing against his back. “You must be joking, right? You…you just raped me, and now you want me to follow you like some blind sheep so you could, what, use me as your personal sex toy? Yeah, uh, thanks but no thanks. I’m not that suicidal.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, not the least bit fazed, and lifted a hand to the other’s chest. “Please, I didn’t rape you,” he said, eyes narrowing and corner of his lips quirking into a crooked, mischievously wicked smirk. “You enjoyed every second of it, Sam. I know rape.” He sank his nails into the other’s flesh, making his breath hitch as he slowly raked them down the skin and left thin, reddening trails behind his already injured chest. “I know violence and murder. I _could_ have raped you, Sam. Could have done so much worse, could have ruined you so wholly and completely you would be begging me to kill you,” he whispered darkly, a thrilled feeling stirring in him as his Sammy gulped, held his breath, looked at him with fear and something else, something like sick arousal in his eyes. “But I didn’t. I made it so good and fun for you. And you liked it… So I really hope you’re not thinking of running now, little mouse.” His smirk widened viciously. “I wouldn’t want to sink my claws too deep in you.”

His trapped little Sam was almost trembling, leaning back on his hands pressed on the table behind him as a feeble attempt to gain some distance from Dean. He licked his lips, the first sign of surrender Dean already saw coming, then chewed on his bottom lip and seemed to shrink in size, like a puppy with its ears drooping in submission. And that was it.

Sam was his.

“I um…” He scratched his neck, averting his eyes but gazing at Dean from time to time, looking as if he was fighting an inner battle. But one side must have won, because in the next moment his Sammy was clearing his throat and putting on a somewhat brave face, folding his arms and giving him a weak glare. “Fine. But I’m not walking out of here without some clothes. And no more scary bullshit. And I’m not staying over. And this won’t ever become a thing, got it? I’m not getting together with some…some…homicidal perverted maniac,” he stated with a huff, however behind the confidence was hesitation, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mhm, got it. I’ve got some clothes in the car. I came prepared.” He winked, making his Sam frown and roll his eyes, then wrapped his arms around that slender waist that belonged to him, pulled the body that also belonged to him close to his own, and brushed his lips against those petal soft ones belonging only to him as he purred, “And I’m afraid you already are together with this homicidal perverted maniac. Because I’m not letting you go, Sammy.” He tightened his hold on the other, emphasizing his words. “Never.”

“You’re…” His Sam trailed off, sighing and shaking his head, so Dean took the liberty to finish the sentence for him.

“Mysteriously hot?”

“More like incredibly annoying and fucked up in the head,” the other deadpanned, before sighing again and pursing his lips into something resembling a pout. “So?” He scowled at Dean. “What are you waiting for? I’m cold… Let’s go.”

Dean’s face split into a broad, devious but sincere smile, and he nodded. “Let’s go,” he agreed, stepping away and taking a hold of his Sam’s hand, which he didn’t plan on letting go until they reached the car…and until the end of times.

 

_But when he’s got you by the heart,_

_What are you to do?_

_Sinning with him is like pure art,_

_And no matter how dirty or bad,_

_How you think you might have gone mad,_

_You know this love is true._

 


End file.
